


Otherside

by HungryLibrary



Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, Yang and Blake are here too, changed to third person because that's my norm now and re-reading it in first person felt weird, in the background - Freeform, just like the white rose, mainly this is just about Weiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:42:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HungryLibrary/pseuds/HungryLibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's looked through grander windows and seen better vistas, and yet Weiss still finds that their little dorm room has the best possible view. Mainly because of what's on her side of the glass...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otherside

Weiss watches the snowflakes fall and counts them as they pass the window.

Today it is bitterly cold outside, comfortably warm in their shared room, and unbelievably quiet for a dorm full of teenagers. 

Somewhere behind her Blake is reading yet another pile of books.

Yes,  _pile_ \- the girl doesn’t seem capable of settling down with less than three different stories on hand. Weiss takes pride in her own ability to multitask, yet the thought of mimicking Blake’s reading habits strikes terror into her heart.

Somewhere up to Weiss’s right Yang is humming along to a song only she can hear.

It’s impossible to tell from her off-tempo singing, but Weiss is rather sure that it is yet another one of those loud party mixes that she is constantly downloading to her scroll. The only music Yang bothers with is the sort with a beat that sounds like people being punched across a dance floor.

These are the only activities, the only disturbances in the quiet, and Weiss savors the peace.

One of her hands runs absentmindedly down the red curtain framing the window. Thick, sturdy cloth, bisected by a neat row of stitches from when Ruby had sewn up yet another one of her silly mistakes…

Ruby, who is slumped at her side.

Weiss can feel a soft press of Ruby’s head on her shoulder as she droops again, shivers as her partner’s warm breaths stir the loose strands of her hair.

She hadn’t asked what Weiss was doing, sitting in front of the window without a book or anything else in your hands. She hadn’t asked if she could join in before pulling up another chair.

By now Ruby knew what it meant when Weiss started counting snowflakes. She knew she was welcome.

This is what Weiss used to do as a child.

When the tutors left for the day and meal time was over or hours away, watching the world pass by had been the only thing she had energy for. And if her bedroom window happened to overlook part of the driveway- Well then, how convenient that Weiss was always forewarned of her father’s arrival…. Or lack thereof, as was often the case.

A page turns. The humming switches tune.

This room is alive with noise even on a quiet day. Not like her old home, where the walls were padded with silence and all the hinges oiled mute.

Here Weiss feels the stirrings of others even in her dreams- Waking up when Yang gives a particularly loud snore, turning to share a dry look with Blake as Ruby giggles softly from above…

Back in the present, Ruby twitches a little in her sleep.

Weiss feels her start to slip forward, boneless as only the truly unconscious can be, and reachs out quickly to reel her back in before she topples right off her chair.

She is always smaller than Weiss expects. With an arm draped close around Ruby, Weiss marvels for the hundredth time that such a slight girl could swing a scythe twice her size, or hold her own in a ‘friendly’ fight with her giant of an older sister.

Right now she does not look strong or silly or restless with energy.

Right now Ruby is delicate in Weiss’s hold. Warm and fragile- open to any attack the world might levy at her-

But of course her partner is here. So Ruby really has no need to worry or fear.

She knows this.  

And lately, so has Weiss.

In pairs and flurries the snowflakes drift by. The view is less grand than what she is used to, smaller and not as invitingly open as she remembers it to be…

Or perhaps  _this_  side of the glass is simply better than it ever was before. 


End file.
